


a zealous circulation

by Anonymous



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Established Relationship, M/M, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:47:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28327044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Akira grins, showing his perfect rows of white teeth. It is not as charming as he thinks it is. “I already have a thrall on you.”Goro narrows his eyes and quickly casts his consciousness inward. There is no pressure around his skull. No foreign emotion dripping into his chest. His mental shields are as fortified as ever, and he does not feel even the faintest of probes pressing against them.“What are you talking about?” he asks, frustrated.“And you have a thrall on me,” Akira continues. He snuggles under the sheets again and reaches out to hold Goro’s hand, squeezing gently. “I love you.”(In which Goro is an aberration who wants his boyfriend to be strong enough to serve as a challenge, and Akira just wants to go to sleep.)
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Comments: 5
Kudos: 72





	a zealous circulation

**Author's Note:**

> See end notes for additional TW
> 
> Thank you to [redacted] for helping me with ideas and acting as a sounding board throughout this fic. Merry Christmas, my secret santa~ I hope you like it! <3
> 
> Also, the idea for this fic was largely inspired by a Tumblr post that I unfortunately cannot find but if anyone recognizes it and could direct me to the original post, that would be very kind. Thank you!

“Honey, I’m home,” Goro calls out jokingly as he pushes open the front door to the small suburban apartment he shares with his boyfriend. Akira's shoes are lined up by the entrance so he must be home. 

“Welcome home,” he hears Akira’s faint reply from the kitchen, followed by the slam of a door being shut. Probably the fridge or the freezer. 

Goro drops his workbag onto the ground and hurries to where Akira is, excitement hastening his steps. Akira is standing in front of the sink, though the water is off, and he reeks of blood. The dried stains all over the front of his rumpled sweater are irrefutable proof of his nightly activities, and Goro bites back a smile at how childish his boyfriend is. Maybe for his next birthday, Goro will buy him a bib as a gift. 

Not for the first time, he wonders just who Akira’s sire was and why he deemed an aberration who cannot even kill or feed cleanly to be ready for the world. 

“Did you buy something today? I heard the freezer door shut.”

Akira’s eyes widen. He reaches up with a hand as if he wants to fiddle with his bangs, but he aborts the motion at the last minute. “Yeah, I bought some instant stuff. Wonton soup and whatever.”

Goro frowns. “You like wonton soup?”

“Yeah. I had some wonton soup at a Chinese restaurant the other day with Futaba and it tasted nice, so when I saw some boxes of the frozen kind at the supermarket, I bought them.”

Goro did not even know that Akira likes Chinese food, considering the only things that Akira eats are Japanese cuisine or yōshoku, but maybe he is just trying to broaden his horizons. 

“Right. Anyway, I have a surprise for you,” Goro says, holding up the small white bag clutched in his hand. Like how people tend to avert their eyes when they see someone in the train station yelling at thin air, sometimes it is kinder to feign ignorance. “I stopped by the shopping district and bought some croquettes. We can eat it before dinner.”

“Ah, thank you,” Akira says, staring deep into Goro’s eyes as if he thinks prolonged eye contact will divert Goro’s attention away from the horrible state of his clothing. “Plate them up and I’ll make some dinner for us.”

Is he seriously planning on eating while he reeks of old blood? Goro absolutely cannot brag that he had a very good upbringing, but he _does_ like to think that he -- and Akira, by extension -- has standards. 

“Put your sweater in the washing machine first,” Goro says, wrinkling his nose. He turns away from Akira to pull out a plate from the cupboard and dump the croquettes onto it. If he recalls, there is still some parsley in the fridge that he can use as a garnish so the plate is not just a brown mound. “You reek.”

Akira does not say anything, nor does he move, for the longest time. Finally, he says, in a strained voice, “I had a bad day at work today.”

“Oh?”

“The person I was dealing with at work spilled...jam...all over me, and I didn’t have time to change. You know how it is.”

Goro stops what he is doing and looks back at Akira, who is staring at Goro’s face again. His lips are turned down in a tight frown, and his fists tremble by his sides. Did he perhaps lose a kill? Maybe he only managed to bite the person but he did not actually get to start feeding. If Goro lost his prey like an amateur, he probably would not want another aberration pointing it out to him, and he certainly would not want to hear any sort of “Actually, I  _ don’t _ know how it is.”

He smiles, putting as much genuine kindness into the expression as possible. “Of _course_ I get it,” he says. He hopes he sounds enthused and convinced, and that Akira cannot hear the minute shaking in his words as he bites back his laughter. “In any case, you smell and look disgusting so go and start up the washing machine. I’ll take care of dinner for you if you need to take a bath.”

Akira shakes his head frantically. “No, it’s fine. I’ll cook dinner. Please don’t do anything.”

“Alright, alright.”

It takes only a minute for Akira to disappear into their bedroom and emerge without the offensive sweater. He must be tired from chasing the human around, because all he makes is cheap instant yakisoba. Goro would usually get on his case for such a cop-out, but not even he is heartless enough to kick a man while he is down. He is such a good boyfriend that he even lets Akira take the last croquette from the plate. 

“Thanks for the meal,” Goro says, in lieu of “Make something better next time.”

“Thanks for the croquettes,” Akira replies, sounding genuinely excited.

The one upside to such a fast and cheap dinner is that there are not a lot of dishes that Goro has to wash. The entire time he scrubs at the plate and utensils and plastic containers with a soapy sponge, he feels Akira’s gaze affixed onto his back. 

To be more precise, on a particular location on his back. 

“Aren’t you watching the news?” Goro asks as he places the plate on the drying rack. 

“I’m watching something more interesting than the news,” Akira replies. 

Goro rolls his eyes. “If you have nothing better to do, why don’t you go set up the bath? You want to have sex today, don’t you?”

He can hear Akira’s smile without even needing to turn around. “Staring at you is so fun, though. I could do this all day.”

“Well, I woke up at four in the morning to prepare for work today, and I’m exhausted. If I have to wait too long for a bath, then maybe I’ll fall asleep.”

That is a lie, and both Goro and Akira know it. He could pull three all-nighters in a row and still have enough energy to help Akira deep-clean the house.

But Akira falls for it every single time. He hears Akira turn off the television -- almost dropping the remote in his haste -- and rush off to the bathroom. About a minute later, he hears the telltale electronic melody of the bath as it starts to prepare the hot water. Goro finishes cleaning up and dries his hands, scoffing to himself at how greedy the two of them are. They have sex practically every night and yet Akira is insatiable. Perpetually eager. He has no idea how Akira handled his sex drive back before Goro entered his life. 

“Goro, it’s ready,” he hears Akira’s faint voice call out.

“Okay, I’m coming,” he calls back, and he hurries to the bathroom. 

The two of them squeeze into the tub, with Goro crowding into Akira’s space under the pretense of reaching over for soap or shampoo. If Goro’s hand “accidentally” slips against Akira’s chest or his inner thigh once or twice, then the small size of the bathtub is to blame. Every time he feels Akira’s fingers “accidentally” graze his nipple or stroke down his waist, he supposes that Akira is also cursing the tight fit of their tub. 

By the time the two are warm and dry in their bathrobes, Goro is already half-hard. He can see the tent in poor Akira’s robe as his erection demands attention. There is a stain on the soft material that has nothing to do with water, and though Akira notices it, he does not change his expression by much. Since the two of them will be taking their clothes off anyway, there really is no point in getting dressed after a shower or bath, but the slow excitement of stripping before they devolve into a tangle of heat only makes the end result all that sweeter.

In Goro’s opinion anyway.

He sits on the mattress, legs apart, though the long length of the bathrobe protects his modesty. A seductive smirk appears on Akira’s face, just like it does every night, as he lowers himself onto the ground in between Goro’s thighs, his hand reaching up to stroke Goro’s bare knee. Goro’s heart skips a beat at the idea that for once, Akira will put up some sort of challenge.

“Come closer, Akira,” he says, pitching his voice low as he extends his will towards Akira’s. “Give yourself to me.”

He stares into Akira’s eyes, knowing that his own are flashing a bright carmine as he initiates his thrall. Not for the first time, he wonders what colour Akira’s eyes will burn. What stars would dance in that pale silver sea.

But there is no resistance as Goro’s thrall easily pierces through into the deepest core of Akira’s psyche and bends his will under his thumb. Akira’s eyes dull, clouded over by the hypnosis, and a pink flame alights in his pupils as his hormones are forcefully aroused. His breath comes faster and his cheeks flush with colour as his lips part, panting so hard that a thin line of drool trickles down his chin. He is pathetic, like a dog, and yet he is the most beautiful person that Goro has ever seen in his long life. 

Without even being asked, Akira reaches out and undoes the loose knot around Goro’s waist, pulling away the bathrobe to reveal Goro’s naked form. He lowers his head, his eyelashes fluttering, as he peppers soft kisses along the side of Goro’s erection, making his way up to the head in preparation to take it into his mouth.

Again, not for the first time, Goro feels anger flare at the back of his mind at how weak Akira is. There is absolutely no doubt that Akira is a former human who was turned into an aberration later in life. His irresponsible sire probably only turned him as a symbol of dominance and control, and then left him on his own after that. No wonder his mental defences are as strong as wet paper. No wonder he cannot even feed without covering himself in blood, like a kitten who plunges its entire face into the water bowl. 

“Don’t worry about me today,” he says. He reaches out and catches his fingers underneath Akira’s chin, tilting his face up. In a smooth move, he grabs Akira’s wrist and tugs him close, tossing him onto the bed and pinning him down before Akira’s sluggish brain could keep up with what is happening. He is slow and dumb, blinking blearily up at the ceiling. 

Before he could say anything, Goro bites down on Akira’s neck, letting the sweetness of his blood flow into his mouth like a river. He relishes in the strangled yet pleasured cry that escapes from Akira’s mouth, and he reaches down, fully intent on eliciting even more sounds from his mate.

* * *

Akira’s soft snoring fills the silence of the room as he slumbers next to Goro, the rhythm steady and undisturbed even as Goro absentmindedly brushes his fingers through the tangled mess that Akira insists is a “stylish haircut.” Considering how weak Akira is as an aberration, he must have only been turned recently, making his actual age close to his physical body. It makes sense that his fashion sense is a lot more immature than Goro’s. “Immature” is truly the most charitable word that Goro can use to describe Akira’s style of dress. Maybe this is what the youths call a “generation gap.”

The thrall that Goro placed on Akira earlier is the weakest thus far, and yet he still fell for it. Even willingly abstaining from devouring humans just to weaken his own power did not work in giving Akira room to resist. Sure, quiet and easy is fun in its own way, but Goro is the type of aberration who likes a little bit more of a struggle. Violence is the most exciting and passionate form of foreplay, after all. The very idea of dominating his equal after a fight that could have gone both ways is so desperately arousing that sometimes Goro has to excuse himself to the bathroom if he thinks about it for too long. That Akira consistently falls into a lustful haze seconds after Goro uses his thrall is a little bit...well, boring. 

Perhaps “boring” is too strong a word. It implies a certain level of disinterest that is certainly not true in any context where Akira is involved. Goro could never be bored of Akira, but he can definitely be dissatisfied with the current situation.

His kills have been particularly brutal and drawn-out the past few weeks. The longer his victims stay alive, the more chances he has to have some fun. Especially since he is willingly weakening himself for Akira’s sake, the least his victims can do is provide some entertainment. He is loathe to compare himself to an  _ animal _ of all things, but sometimes he feels like a lion in a too-small enclosure, pacing around in desperation for some sort of enrichment and stimulation.

Considering how the stench of blood has been particularly thick around Akira these past few days, he supposes that Akira has been equally frustrated at his own weakness. Which is completely understandable, of course. If Goro is the one constantly being enthralled by someone who is supposed to be his partner, he would have lost his temper months ago. 

It is strange, though, how pitifully weak Akira’s mind continues to remain. Even if his sire never taught him the basics of his powers, Akira has always shown great innate aptitude in any skill he picks up. He must be a fairly powerful aberration, just based on how thick the scent of blood is on his skin. The cloying sweetness clings onto him no matter how many times he tries to wash it off.

Goro had always carried the impression that learning how to better use one’s powers is like learning how to drive or play the piano. The more one practiced the skill or was exposed to it, the better they become at it. Resisting a thrall, or using a thrall, follows the same logic. And yet, even though he has been with Akira for the past two years, Akira has never improved. In fact, it seems like his defences get lower and lower the more Goro uses his magic on him.

It must feel awful to constantly fall victim to another aberration’s thrall. Poor Akira. At this rate, even an infant aberration could turn his mind into mush if it so wanted to.

Akira groans softly and Goro blinks down at him. He was so deep in his thoughts that he didn’t even notice his fingers straying too close to the sensitive shell of Akira’s ear.

“Good morning,” Goro says, his voice raspy from their earlier activities. “You need anything?”

“Hrmgh,” Akira mumbles, burying his face into his pillow. He makes a motion underneath the blanket and Goro leans away (he pointedly ignores Akira’s whine of distress at the sudden lack of warmth) to snag the water bottle on their nightstand.

“Here you go,” he says, offering it to Akira.

For a second, Akira continues to wriggle about, like he is doing his best impression of a worm on a hook. Once he finally realizes that Goro has absolutely no interest in opening up the bottle and mouth-feeding the water to him, he pushes himself up and blinks lazily at Goro, eyes bleary and unfocused. He looks like a rumpled housecat startled from its nap, and without his fake glasses, there is no hiding the naturally dangerous look in his eyes. 

Goro charitably removes the cap from the bottle and when Akira takes it in his surprisingly steady hand, he guzzles down half of it in one go. 

The remnants of their earlier night of passion are still blooming all over Akira’s pale chest and collarbone. From this angle, his back is not visible, but Goro is sure that the bite marks he left are imprinted onto his shoulder and waist. The matching scars and scratches Akira gave his body itch as his skin starts to knit itself back together again, and the faint pleasure-pain makes him shiver.

“Thanks,” Akira says, sounding a tinge more energetic than before. He tosses the water bottle carelessly over his shoulder and it lands perfectly on the rumpled pile of old laundry on Akira’s side of the bedroom. “What’s on your mind?”

“Nothing.”

“Don’t lie. I can tell from your face that you’re thinking about something. Come on, tell me. I’m sure whatever you’re racking your brain over, it’s not as complicated as you think it is.”

He reaches out with a finger and pokes Goro right in between his eyebrows, kneading the furrows like he is trying to iron them out. Goro rears back, scowling. “I was thinking about  _ you _ .”

“Aw,” Akira says, smiling dopily.

That is certainly not the reaction that Goro was hoping to get, though he cannot say that he is surprised. He did not think it was possible, but his frown intensifies. Oh, how he desperately wants to wipe that expression off of Akira’s face. He has the most annoying talent of getting under Goro’s skin with the most mindless of movements and words. His fingers itch to pull on Akira’s face until it is twisted with pain rather than mirth.

“I was thinking about how weak you are --”

“How romantic.”

“-- and how I could help you to rectify that. Why don’t you try putting a thrall on me?” Goro suggests. “Maybe if you improve on how you cast it, you can perfect defending yourself against it.”

Akira grins, showing his perfect rows of white teeth. It is not as charming as he thinks it is. “I already have a thrall on you.”

Goro narrows his eyes and quickly casts his consciousness inward. There is no pressure around his skull. No foreign emotion dripping into his chest. His mental shields are as fortified as ever, and he does not feel even the faintest of probes pressing against them.

“What are you talking about?” he asks, frustrated.

“And you have a thrall on me,” Akira continues. He snuggles under the sheets again and reaches out to hold Goro’s hand, squeezing gently. “I love you.”

The heat that rises up in Goro’s chest has nothing to do with affection and everything to do with irritation. What insolence! He slips his hand out of Akira’s grip and grabs Akira’s face instead, cupping his chin in his palm and squeezing until Akira lets out a muffled squeak of pain.

Shockingly enough, Akira is already falling asleep despite the pressure on his face -- he has slept through an earthquake before so Goro’s playful pinch has absolutely no effect in keeping him awake. It also seems that he has little interest in improving himself.

And Goro has an inkling as to why.

It is rare that Goro feels this sort of emotion. Like a stranglehold tightening its grip around his chest. A most uncomfortable sensation, as if he swallowed a piece of bone by accident.

Guilt.

Goro can kill entire families without even blinking an eye. He has eaten parents in front of their children, and vice versa, and is able to stroll around the next day as if nothing happened. He is one of the most powerful aberrations in Tokyo -- no, in Japan -- and the last he heard from Sumire, the bounty on his head was nearing ten million yen. It is, according to an inexplicably proud Sumire, the highest bounty in history. 

Of  _ course _ Akira would not want to improve himself if his partner -- the person who is supposed to be his equal -- is someone like Goro. It is like demanding that a turtle be as beautiful as the moon. Like asking a toddler to sprint alongside Usain Bolt. The guilt of his own ignorance sits in his chest like a boulder. 

The only person in the world who can inspire this sort of feeling inside of him slumbers on peacefully, exhaustion clear in the lines marring his pale face. To think that Akira is so weak that even a single night of passion can wear him out so. Was Goro truly so blind that he just let this happen for two years straight? Akira truly needs Goro’s help in becoming stronger. How can Goro treat him like a rival and an equal from this point forth if Akira’s strength is on the level of a simple mortal’s?

But coming up with a training regimen can wait until tomorrow. For now, he should probably make a little something for Akira to eat when he wakes up.

He dresses in the robe he discarded earlier -- wincing when he feels a lukewarm wet patch touch his bare penis -- and heads down to the kitchen. He has never been good at cooking. He has never needed to be. The last time he tried to make something with fresh ingredients from the supermarket, the firefighters had to come and extinguish the pathetic remains of what had used to be a salad.

Goro and Akira usually take turns with the chores around the house. But needless to say, when it comes to cooking, it is almost always Akira’s job. Though human food is a far less efficient way to gain nutrients for an aberration, Akira finds it relaxing and if Akira wishes to indulge in such a humanlike hobby, then who is Goro to try and stop him? It certainly helps that Akira’s cooking is absolutely heavenly.

The few times that Goro takes it upon himself to cook for the two of them, he sticks to warming up some frozen food. At the very least, it is impossible to mess up pressing a button or two, even for Goro.

When he came home, Akira had mentioned that he bought some wonton soup and presumably, it is stored in the freezer. Goro opens it up, fully expecting to see a few boxes of the stuff, but the sight that greets him instead makes him blink.

A man -- no, a cadaver -- stares up at him, its face twisted in horror and pain, mouth open in an eternal voiceless scream. It is propped up against the wall of the freezer, and though the majority of the body is hidden inside of several garbage bags, Goro can tell that it is curled up in a fetal position in order to fit completely inside of the appliance.

At the back of his mind, he distantly realizes that Akira had lied to him. 

He lowers his face down to the body and sniffs, fast and shallow. The man is older than Goro’s preference, and reeks of fat. The stench is so overpowering that even the cold is unable to completely wipe it away. Goro wrinkles his nose with disgust and pulls away lest he retches.

Is this the kind of prey that Akira prefers? Goro is not the type of person who buys stock into the “you are what you eat” sort of thinking but maybe, just maybe, this is why Akira is so weak. He is practically eating  _ junk food _ . And what is with this freezing business? Is he thinking of cooking it or something? Is he thinking of blending it up and turning this cadaver into a smoothie?

Goro thinks back to the many meals that Akira has made for him. Curry, homemade ramen, chicken nanban, nabeyaki udon, et cetera, et cetera...Has Akira been secretly using human meat instead of animal meat? But no, Goro would recognize human flesh in an instant. Akira has never cooked a single body.

Then why is it in the freezer?

The only logical conclusion that Goro can draw from the presented evidence is that Akira, driven crazy by his own powerlessness, came up with the idea that cooking a body, instead of simply sucking it dry or eating it raw, would grant him the strength that he needs to overpower Goro both physically and mentally. Or at least put up enough of a fight that the two of them can actually enjoy a bit of foreplay before the main event.

“Poor idiot,” Goro mumbles to himself. “As if it’s that easy to grow stronger as an aberration.”

He reaches out and places a finger underneath the corpse’s chin, lifting it up and tilting it from side to side like a jeweller inspecting a diamond. It does not look particularly appetizing, especially with the thin layer of frost coating the skin. But maybe that is the point. Maybe Akira purposefully chose a disgusting-looking human to cook because he could not bring himself to dice up someone who is more aesthetically pleasing.

Goro does not know much about cooking but he  _ has _ heard that the uglier the fruit, the better. If he recalls, imperfections that cause a produce to be less marketable are a sign that the fruit had to fight off stressors. The antioxidants it produces as a result of its battle for survival makes it healthier and sweeter, though it causes lumps and discolouration. Humans eat disgusting-looking things such as sea urchins and monkfish all the time too, and those are considered expensive delicacies. 

Does Akira think that the uglier the human, the tastier they are? Truth be told, Goro does not know the answer to that uestion. It is certainly an interesting theory to test out.

Though the old man’s ugly mug did not stir Goro’s appetite at all minutes earlier, he finds his mouth watering now. Akira can probably make something delicious out of the corpse -- leagues better than anything Goro could make even if Goro had his pick of the most luxurious of ingredients -- but surely he would not object to Goro carving off a few pieces here and there? Akira probably was not lying about the wonton soup, on second thought, but he merely meant that he was going to turn this man into wontons. How much meat would he need for that? Certainly not enough that he would be stingy about a little slice off of the shoulder and neck.

He closes the lid to the freezer to stop too much of the cold air from escaping and walks back to the bedroom, where Akira is deep asleep on the bed. His expression, peaceful and lax, is almost angelic, but Goro is absolutely merciless as he reaches out and pinches Akira’s nose. Within seconds, Akira’s face scrunches up as he struggles to breathe, and he lets out a muffled whine, opening his eyes and looking up at Goro plaintively.

Goro lets go and Akira pushes himself up, blinking slowly. “Can’t you wake me up normally?” he asks, giving Goro his best attempt at puppy eyes.

In lieu of answering such a ridiculous question, Goro says, “I was thinking of making something for us to eat.”

Akira looks away. “Ah. Don’t push yourself, Goro. I don’t mind cooking for the both of us.”

“I’m not cooking because I want to eat something,” Goro snaps, even though his stomach growls at him. “I’m cooking because...never mind. Anyway, I wanted to ask you if I could use the frozen food you brought home?”

“Frozen food?” Akira repeats. He tilts his head to the side, frowning. “Oh, uh, you mean the wonton soup?”

“No, I mean the man in the freezer.”

Akira freezes, his eyes wide. He stares up at Goro as if he is staring into the eyes of a stranger, and he backs away until he hits the headboard. His reaction is unlike anything Goro had ever expected and despite himself, he reaches out in worry, only for Akira to scuttle away even more.

“What?” Akira rasps, his voice faint. “What are you talking about? What man in the freezer?”

But before Goro could try again or say something, Akira reaches out and shoves him away. Goro grunts, less out of pain and more from surprise, and Akira pushes past him, practically tripping over his own feet in his haste to get out of the bedroom and, presumably, to the kitchen. Goro follows at a leisurely pace

True to his prediction, Akira is in the kitchen, standing in front of the closed freezer. His expression is twisted in a combination of fear and disgust. When Goro reaches out to tug open the door, Akira ducks his head away, though his eyes are fixed so firmly onto what is inside that it is as if he is being compelled by an unseen force. The corpse stares up at the both of them. Akira looks vaguely green, and he covers his mouth with one hand as if he is about to be sick.

“Are you alright?” Goro asks. “This is why you should eat them raw since fresh meat is always better. Especially when you’re hunting something as unhealthy as this.”   
He reaches down and raps his knuckles against the top of the corpse’s head. It makes a clean and hollow noise. He is not sure if that means the man will be delicious or not, but Akira probably knows.

Even if Akira could tell Goro how to use sound to judge the ripeness of a human, he is far too busy gaping at Goro to do so. He looks like a goldfish, opening and closing his mouth silently while his eyes are so wide they practically bug out of his head.

Goro raises a hand and brushes a finger down his own cheek. Nothing. So there isn’t something on his face. So why is Akira staring at him like he grew a second head? His odd behaviour is as confusing as it is irritating.

“What is it?” Goro asks, trying his best to keep the annoyance out of his voice. The jury is out as to whether or not he succeeded. “Why are you staring at me like that? Can I or can I not use this?”

The question seems to shake Akira out of his reverie. He blinks at Goro, and the blankness of before is replaced with incredulity. “Aren’t you surprised at all to see a dead body in the freezer?” Akira demands. “And just what are you going to use it for?”

“The same thing you were going to do! I was going to cook it.”

“Cook it!” Akira gasps, raising a hand to his chest like a character from a drama. “Cook the...Why in the world you could  _ cook _ it? In fact, why did you think that  _ I _ was going to cook it?”

Goro frowns. He was so sure in his theory that Akira revealing he had never planned on cooking the corpse is really throwing him for a loop. Now he is the one who will sound stupid.

“I...thought you had the idea of cooking humans because you had it in your head that it would make you stronger as an aberration,” he admits slowly, looking away and staring into the corpse’s horrified eyes. “I thought you were trying to improve your magic because you always fall for my thrall, and that you thought cooked human would --”

He pauses when Akira holds up his hands like he is trying to soothe an angry horse. Goro fights back another sting of irritation at the action. 

“Thrall? Aberration? What in the world are you talking about?”

For the first time that night, and for the first time in Goro’s entire acquaintance with Akira, a sliver of doubt worms its way into Goro’s head.

“Every time we have sex, you can’t fight off my thrall,” Goro muses out loud. “I thought you fell so easily because you were too weak or immature. But is it perhaps due to the fact you aren’t even an aberration? Then what are you? A werewolf? A kappa?”

“I’m just a human!” Akira yelps, to Goro’s eternal shock. “What are you  _ talking _ about, Goro? Werewolves and kappa don’t exist!”

Goro is not the type of aberration who is physically very monstrous, but there is one part of him that is consistently and obviously inhuman. It is embarrassing to open his mouth as wide as he can and allow his fangs -- as long and sharp as a cobra’s -- to slip out from their hiding spots inside his gums, but he does so, even leaning forward to give Akira a better look. He can tell from the expression of honest shock on Akira’s face that his point was made, and he quickly closes his mouth, sheathing his fangs in case they catch onto his lips.

“Unfortunately, they do, and until now, I thought you were the same as me,” Goro says. He glares at Akira. Instead of shrinking away like most ordinary people would at this point, Akira merely blinks at him. “Just what is wrong with you then? Why do you reek of blood all the time? What’s with the body in the freezer?”

He does not know what sort of response he expected to hear, but never in a million years would he have guesed that Akira’s only answer is hysterical laughter. He watches, hot indignation melting into cold anger in his chest, as Akira practically doubles over, guffawing and laughing, wiping away tears that threaten to trail down his face.

In all their time together, Goro has never seen Akira laugh this hard or this much before. Though he knows it probably is not the right time, there is a petty part of him throwing a tantrum at how  _ this _ , of all things, is what lets him finally see unrestrained mirth from his boyfriend.

“What?” he snaps, crossing his arms. “Just what is so funny?”

“Sorry, sorry,” Akira says, though his voice is still choked with the last vestiges of laughter. “It’s just...I thought for sure that you were the same as me. I just can’t believe that you could  _ smell _ the blood on me this entire time, but you never pieced it together, Mister Detective.”

Goro’s cheeks flare red. “Sorry, but I’m not a detective anymore. And besides, I thought the whole time that you were the same as  _ me _ . Unless you’re secretly a serial killer or something, I can’t imagine why else you...Wait, don’t tell me.”

Akira does not say anything, whether to confirm or to deny.

The stench of blood that follows him around like a cloud...the dirty sweatshirt he was wearing earlier today...the body stuffed so carelessly inside of the freezer...the fact that he is nothing more than an ordinary human…

There really is only one answer that he can draw from this line-up of proof.

(The fact that the “only answer” he was able to come up with earlier was completely wrong is an irony that is unfortunately very present in the back of Goro’s mind.)

He groans, long and drawn-out. “I can’t believe this,” he sighs.

“If it makes you feel better, I only kill people who deserve it,” Akira says, as if Goro cares anything about that.

Who died and made Akira the judge, jury, and executioner for the millions and millions of people who live in Tokyo? There is no differentiation between “good” and “evil” when it comes to choosing who lives or dies for Goro. Humanity’s problem is that they put too much emphasis on each other’s lives. The notion that death or injury is “justified” in some way if the victim is morally incorrect is one that has always struck Goro as ridiculous.

What difference is there between the man who cheats on his wife and the man who sees a homeless man on the street yet refuses to drop even a single 100-yen coin into the cup? What is the difference between the woman who neglects her child and the woman who knowingly spends money on a product that had been tested on animals and created in a sweatshop?

To get into the details of morality and cherry-pick which sins are worthy or unworthy of “justice”...It is something that Goro gave up on hundreds and hundreds of years ago.

“People who abuse their power and step on the weak...There are so many of them in the world,” Akira continues, his voice fevered and impassioned. “I show them what it’s like on the other end of the knife, to let them realize firsthand the sort of pain they inflict on the people around or below them. This one here was hoarding all the money that should have gone to his over-worked and underpaid employees, and then was using that money to buy teenagers from the black market to play with, only to throw them out onto the streets once he’s done with them. He deserves to rot in the lowest circle of hell, so I took him there myself.”

There is absolutely no hint of doubt in his voice. He is speaking as a man who is utterly convinced in his own righteousness. Akira’s porcelain cheeks flush beautifully as he stares into Goro’s eyes, as if willing Goro to understand and agree with him.

His grey eyes are as clear as still water, showing no sign of the hidden depths of insanity that lurk underneath. Indeed, he was able to trick even _Goro_ , and Goro has no doubts that justifying his actions to himself under the guise of vigilantism is the safety net that holds Akira together. He is finally seeing the glimmer of Akira’s true power in his captivatingly silver eyes-- the sight that he had wanted so bad from the beginning. But now he cannot help but want to see the day that Akira’s straightforward gaze clouds over with despair. 

The road to hell is paved with good intentions and if the alternative is Akira walking down that path holding the hand of some random piece of trash, then Goro will stay by his side until Akira joins him in the cold heat. 

In the end, Goro is nothing more than an aberration living true to his monstrous nature.

“You did the right thing,” Goro says, smiling. “If he is truly such a disgusting human, like you say, then he doesn’t deserve to be turned into anything delicious, especially by your hand.”

“I wasn’t planning on cooking him.”

“I’ll help you get rid of the body in the morning,” Goro continues, ignoring Akira’s interjection. “Let’s find someone else to eat next time. It’s a date.”

“I wasn’t ever planning on eating my victims. But thank you.”

Oddly enough, Akira claims to not have much of an appetite despite all the exercise and stress he had been through that night, and he retires to the bedroom. The shocking series of revelations -- his boyfriend is an aberration; his boyfriend thought that he was also an aberration; the reveal of his secret side hustle of murdering people on the streets -- must be tiring, though. Goro supposes he can slice off a bit of the corpse’s shoulder in the morning and get Akira to turn it into a sandwich, just to see for himself if freezing and cooking a body really is more delicious than eating it fresh after a kill.

When he returns to the bedroom, Akira is already laying down, his head buried under the blankets until only the top of his black hair is visible. It is a sight that has greeted Goro several times already in just one night. He shrugs off his robe and slips into bed next to Akira, but before he could even start to get comfortable, he feels Akira’s warmth press itself insistently against his side. An arm snakes its way around his waist, holding him in place

“Akira?” Goro asks, tilting his head down at his boyfriend, who is staring up at him with excitment playing on his curved lips.   
“I was thinking about something,” Akira says sweetly, “ever since you told me what you are.”

So he only started thinking about it five minutes or so ago. Great.

“Oh?” Goro probes.

“I hear that only a stake through a heart can kill a vampire,” Akira says, tracing shapes over Goro’s bare chest. “Is that true for aberrations as well?”

Goro squints at Akira, whose cheery expression does not budge an inch. “Why would you bring up vampires?” he demands indignantly. 

“Your fangs reminded me of one.”

He will have to educate Akira on the proper way to talk to an aberration in the future. If Goro was someone with less patience and self-control, he would have punched Akira for comparing him to a filthy  _ bloodsucker _ of all things.

“Well?” Akira presses. “Would a stake through your heart kill you?”

“As far as I know, yes,” Goro lies.

"Is there any other way for you to die?"

"I can theoretically live forever as long as I get enough nutrients and my core is intact."

He is getting a bad feeling from the way this conversation is going and though he desperately wants Akira to simply conk out, it seems that the adrenaline of the night has blown away all hints of fatigue or sleepiness from Akira’s mind. Hopefully, Goro’s bad feeling is nothing more than --

“If I promise not to stick anything through your chest, is it alright if I try cutting you up next time?” 

\-- a figment of his imagination.

Akira leans forward and presses a chaste kiss against the side of Goro’s jaw. The hand on Goro’s chest slides until it rests right over his heart, pressing down to feel the steady beating.

He worded his request like a question, but Akira delivered it with such confidence that it sounds more like a declaration of intent than anything. Pink dusts Akira’s fair cheeks and his breath comes in fast bursts as he snuggles ever closer against Goro’s side. He acts exactly like he does under the influence of Goro’s thrall, even though Goro is not manipulating him in any way.

“I’ve always wanted to try killing you, to be honest,” Akira continues, his voice airy and fervent. His tone is so similar to the soft aroused moans that Goro pries from him that despite himself, he can feel heat start to curl in the pit of his stomach. “The thought of living a single day without you by my side stayed my hand. But now that I know you’re like an immortal? I don’t think I can hold myself back.”

How does Akira usually like to kill his enemies? Is he imagining blowing a hole through Goro’s head, right between his eyebrows, and then licking up the blood that would drip down his face? Or perhaps he is visualizing cutting Goro up into pieces with a knife and then watching as the chunks of flesh and muscle knit themselves back together around Goro’s vulnerable heart?

Goro is a born predator. His body and psyche are both primed for slaughter and murder. He was never meant to become someone’s prey, especially when that someone is a human. And yet, looking into Akira’s eyes and imagining that same gaze staring down at his softest and most private parts fills him with an exhilaration that is similar yet foreign from the usual bloodlust.

“Just once,” Goro says, and it sounds like a lie even to his own ears. "Just to make amends for the thrall."

Akira does not call him out on it, thankfully. Instead, he bears down on Goro, pressing him into the mattress with his weight, his hands gripping Goro’s wrists so tightly that if Goro were a normal human, his bones would have snapped. 

Goro opens his mouth to welcome Akira inside, his tongue reaching out to tangle against Akira’s. The sweet pleasure invading his mouth mixes deliciously with the stabbing pain emanating up his arms. It is like his entire body is a beating heart, as the stimulation causes thrums of sensation to travel from his core to his extremities. 

Akira releases one of his wrists to open and fumble around the bedside drawer, and when his hand returns to Goro’s field of vision, he recognizes the toy in Akira’s hand as a Swiss army knife. The blade glows dangerously, even under the low light of their bedroom.

“Give yourself to me,” Akira says soothingly, his thumb rubbing gentle circles into the pulse point on Goro’s wrist. The soft sensation is such a contrast to the death grip that it sends shudders up Goro’s spine. “And don’t worry if this isn’t enough for you. I have more toys I’ve been  _ dying _ to use on you.”

**Author's Note:**

> TW: minor character death but inexplicit and off-screen; a little dubcon-y due to unwittingly non-consensual sexual thrall; talk of eating people (but Tokyo Ghoul is marketed towards teens so it should be alright)
> 
> While Akechi is an "aberration," he is for all intents and purposes a vampire who can walk around outside. He was supposed to be a vampire in the original draft of this but I did not want to get into the explanation for why he can walk around outside and stuff. Please watch the Monogatari series.


End file.
